


Drunk and Breathless

by twowritehands



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: First Time Penetration, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn Without Plot, Underage Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haddock makes virgin Tintin come three or four times in one night. Based on a prompt from the old kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk and Breathless

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re breathless.”

Tintin shrugged. Maybe he was a little short of breath, but that was because Haddock had pushed him against the wall and closed the distance between them so that now their noses were almost touching.

The ginger could smell alcohol on the sailor’s words, but the greater smell was a briny musk overpowering his senses as effectively as the taller man’s hulking form overpowered his slighter one. Tintin’s heart skipped, and his breath wavered. Something unraveled under his skin; the first metaphor occurring to the young writer that of sails catching a strong wind, swelling, lifting a lifeless vessel to all of glory and exploration.

“I know that look in your eye,” Haddock rumbled through a smile. He pointed one thick finger in Tintin’s face. “You’re thinking about an adventure.”

“You,” Tintin corrected simply.

The stupefied look on the sea captain’s face made Tintin think of all the times the swaggering sea dog got hit in the head while attempting rudimentary tasks. Smirking, the journalist rested his tailbone on both his hands against the hard wood of the wall, continued to breathe in Haddock’s whiskey exhales.

“Me?” Haddock asked; he blinked, and laughed. A big calloused hand rested lightly on Tintin’s hip. “Me? Is that what gets you so breathless, laddie?”

“Sometimes,” he answered with a slow nod, and the wind caught the captain’s sails too because the hand on Tintin’s hip closed into a decided grip. Another big hand explored the strong sweep of his waist. “What gets you breathless, Captain?”

“Well, a lot of things,” he huffed, whiskey scent washing warm on the skin of Tintin’s neck. “But I’ll tell you what gets me drunk faster than a drink these days, Tintin, and that’s thinkin’ of doing something like this to you...”

Tintin let his head thump back onto the wall as Haddock’s soft lips and scratchy beard pressed against the side of his throat, on the tender juncture of neck and collarbone. Tintin released his hands from their trap behind him and draped his arms around the captain’s wide shoulders, feeling the coarse material of his dark blue jacket under his palms.

Haddock’s lips parted against Tintin’s neck, teeth bit at his skin, and a moist tongue swept over the sting. The wall left Tintin’s back as he was pulled, hips first, against Haddock’s body, held there, fingertips pressing bruises into the boy’s love handles. Haddock was sucking right over the pulse point like one would an orange peel for every last drop of sweetness.

This part wasn’t new to Tintin. There had been stolen moments in school, secret moments shared with some of the taller, older boys. Tintin kept the memories as fond remembrances; the mingling taste of chocolate and root beer, the smell of cigarette smoke in the wind there on the cafeteria rooftop.

Then, of course, there had been a girl or two on doorsteps after an evening out, softer kisses filled with perfume and the taste of lipstick.

But Tintin had never taken it any further than that, than tasting breath and pressing tongue against tongue and body against body; he knew there was an adventure much bigger, deeper, wilder than any of that waiting beyond—he had seen pictures (always was at least one being passed around in school) and he had all the usual urges—but with the older boys there had been nowhere to contain such an unruly adventure where the matron wouldn’t catch them and as for the girls... well, he hadn’t wanted to marry them so it wouldn’t have been right.

And since striking out to live on his own in Brussels, Tintin had kept far too busy staying alive, unraveling the next mystery, catching the next villain, and writing up the next big story, to seek out this particular adventure.

And anyway, it was just easier to keep everyone at arm’s length, to ignore it if they seemed to want to recreate those blush-bringing pictures with him; he didn’t actually need more adventure in his life, did he?

But Haddock took being ignored as just another wall to push through.

Thus, Tintin ended up breathless, letting go of all his excuses, allowing himself to be molded against a man as that man’s bearded mouth worked a mark into his sensitive flesh. Tintin remembered that such marks stayed warm, like the mouth was still there; one had to keep these spots hidden from view during the day for propriety’s sake.

His blood spiked at the thought of having such wicked little treasures from Haddock.

Great Snakes, he was here again, at the start of it all. It had been a while, but he knew what to do, where to put his hands, how to move his mouth against another mouth.

But for the first time in his life, there wasn’t a reason why he should keep an eye on the clock or look out for the matron. And Haddock certainly didn’t have a virtue to respect; they didn’t have to stop!

Tintin knew the wall he had been pressed against was across from a door and through the door was a bedroom, and the whole day was free to be spent as they wished.

A thrill shot through him head to toe. I could, he thought as he lifted the captain’s heavy head in both hands and fit their mouths together. The taste of whiskey made Tintin’s thoughts spin like he was drinking the burning amber liquid. I could let him take me to bed. There was a wicked coil of dark hope in the pit of Tintin’s stomach; dark heavy swirls of his most wicked fantasies (the kind he lied even to himself about having) were making his manhood heavier and his thoughts muddled, coming to him from a distance.

Haddock broke away, amused and lustful, his heavy-lidded, dark blue eyes studying him with swollen pupils, “you’re already red-faced and panting and I haven’t even gotten started yet, laddie.”

Tintin felt rubbery against the man like he could be losing the integrity of his bones in the intense heat of the moment; nothing more than a wax dummy in the flames of Haddock’s touches. He was only vaguely aware of how drunk and rasping he sounded as he asked, “You’ll keep going?”

“Oh, aye, I’m not stoppin’ now. Not now,” and their mouths mashed together again, teeth clicking against each other and tongues sweeping in as Haddock’s arms snaked around Tintin, enclosing him entirely within a haze of briny musk and muscle and heat.

Tintin fell down into his body, deep, far from all thinking, away from asking why, where, when, whom or how. He went to where his body wasn’t enough, where he needed another in every way; another mouth, more hands, that mirroring hard ridge pressing against the apex of Tintin’s thighs where all blood and all feeling and all instinct pooled.

With fistfuls of the thick blue sweater, he broke their mouths apart. Haddock gave a startled and reluctant grunt and Tintin, panting, reached for and found the surviving strand of rational thought, the one that would never abandon an intelligent young man such as him even in moments such as this. In it was a smile and a whisper, “Captain, I’m sailing into uncharted waters.”

“Is that so?” Haddock rumbled, amused by the thoughtful metaphor. The arms still around Tintin slid down to loop around his lower back and they swayed like dancing, noses bumping. It felt to the boy like he was surfacing from untold depths for a breath and here was allowed to idly tread water for a moment before diving back down to the unknown. For now, time to breathe and breath only made his heart flutter faster.

With a light bite on the very ear he whispered into the old sailor intoned dramatically, wickedly, “Beware, Tintin. Here there be monsters.”

Laughter took all the thick, hot pleasure swirling low in Tintin and shook it up, made it fizzy like seas of Champaign beneath skies as blue as Haddock’s eyes, and he giggled up at those eyes fondly, “You silly old soak.”

“It’s the huge one-eyed eel you’ve got to look out for!” Haddock whispered with hoarse, amused chuckling as he rolled his pelvis forward and made clear his arousal. Tintin gasped--not in surprise or shock but for his wounded literary heart,

“Captain, one can take a metaphor too far!”

Still chuckling drunkenly, Haddock kissed him with greed once more, but kept it brief to ask, cheeky but with the same wicked timber as before, “Is it to be a maiden voyage as well?”

“This metaphor has run its course, Captain,” Tintin murmured with as much dignity as he could muster while roses bloomed on his cheeks and the floor drew his eyes downwards, to hide. In doing so, he showed his hand to the experienced man.

“Ohho!” Haddock laughed, eyes bright and hoarse whiskey voice whispering into Tintin’s quiff, “so you’re a virgin even with the lassies, eh?”

Never before had it been cause for even a moment’s shame but suddenly Tintin felt an irrational urge to prove a lie—to prove that he had at least some experience. Suddenly it seemed silly not to have taken this adventure head on the very first chance he got.

Isn’t that what a young man is supposed to do?

Haddock’s big hands closed on each cheek and held Tintin’s face right in front of his smiling beard, sapphire eyes filled with humor but kindness also—and longing.

“Oh, Tintin, you’re still filled with surprises. I never would have thought this of you—you’re so good at damned near everything you do, and you’ll do anything to get the story!” Haddock shook his head, bewildered, “Don’t you see the way the lassies look at you?”

“No,” Tintin lied with a grin, reaching up to scratch his nails through Haddock’s beard, going on his toes to put their lips close but not quite together, “I only see the way you look at me, Captain.”

Until now the only instance of a man growling in Tintin’s life had been in vicious hand-to-hand fights to the death; deadly villains so angry they turned into beasts demanding blood, snarling and growling for it. Well, Haddock growled now, but in a way that thickened those Champaign seas back into the dark deep swirls from before.

Time for another dive. Haddock was a beast, for sure--but not a frightening one; one to lie down for, one to run from only for the thrill of being caught.

Clamped suddenly and tightly together, they spun on the spot. Tintin was forcibly pressed against the bedroom door and kissed as if this kind of kiss could force out of him what those bludgeoning villains of the past never could—surrender, total and complete. It did.

Tintin fought back only for a moment, instinct kicking in so that he shoved into Haddock’s trapping strength, but he couldn’t break it, and then desire lunged him forward even more, and he gave in, rolling willingly back down deep into his body where he ached now.

The ache was new. Tintin took things in hand at night often enough, whenever he realized he needed to, because denying himself nature’s simple release had always seemed rather too extreme when such a thing could and should be dealt with privately, efficiently, quietly and with just as much dignity as taking care of the rest of one’s  
body. But the ache was new because he wasn’t one to put off the inevitable, so hadn’t even really considered drawing it out this far before.

Thus he found it really rather alarming that it could reach a level of intensity so as to literally ache as if something was wrong. But something was wrong. He and Haddock weren’t sharing enough of each other, the kisses weren’t enough, there was more to do. There was more and it was in reach, his to take.

Tintin leaned his weight, hips first, into Haddock’s thigh. The pressure cut into the throbbing ache, and a tremor of pleasure from the slight relief was enough to break the kiss and make his voice shake ever so slightly, “Captain...”

He didn’t even know what he was going to say, how he was going to ask—because he needed to know some things. How was this done properly? What were the mechanics? Just what, if any, were his obligations within the role he would be taking for this endeavor? His brain swirled with these questions, becoming more and more as if in an interview, but then Haddock did something and Tintin’s belly flopped like on a carnival ride, the kind best enjoyed without knowing when it ended, so he kept his mouth shut and groaned delightfully instead.

Haddock had, with two hands, encased Tintin’s rear end and lifted him nearly off his feet to crush their hips together, doubling the pressure that so tantalized the virgin, and adding a moment of electrifying friction. Tintin’s breath left him completely, and, quite without his meaning to, he gave up standing all together in favor of more, in favor of closer together. He lifted his knees and wrapped his legs around the man like a koala, bucked his pelvis, pressed until he could feel the throbs in Haddock’s arousal beating back against his.

The sailor cursed happily into Tintin’s tweed shoulder, shoved him further into the wood of the door, smoothed rough hands down his thighs and back as their bodies rocked together with more of that fizzy friction.

“Hmmm-mm-mmm,” Tintin hummed with laughter, moist lips flying apart to lease a gasping whoop when, upon the journalist’s groping for the knob, the door supporting him gave way but he was safe in the Captain’s strong, tense arms as they lurched into the room, stumbled for the bed.

Haddock’s baritone cackle flattened the air out of his lungs, and he was red in the face by the time they collapsed on the covers, still smiling, laughing, panting for breath.  
Exhilarated, the journalist forgot all his questions, and just wanted to put his hands above his head to enjoy the ride.

This was fun!

Prone beneath Haddock, legs splayed, pale skin blotched red all over, Tintin bit his lip bashfully, but arched his back for Haddock’s thick hands to slip under his shirts and trace his bare spine. The boy reached blindly for the pillows above him at the top of the bed. As his body squirmed beneath the captain, Haddock’s eyes went dark, and his throat pulsed “Oh, laddie, oh laddie.”

In one motion (for somehow Tintin’s top buttons were now open—“Did you do that with your teeth?”--) undershirt, sweater, and jacket went over a ginger quiff and straight into the floor. The ache pulsed to greater heights and with it, his heart rate spiked to unprecedented levels. Great Snakes, to be so stimulated by the simple act of undoing buttons and dragging off clothes, a rudimentary chore he performed every night without this result.

Suddenly chest-bare like the ‘skin team’ in gym class, the rush of cool air, and the brush of body heat close above him excited Tintin’s skin into gooseflesh, constricted his nipples into sharp dark points that drew Haddock’s hot mouth. The sensation of someone’s roving tongue on such sensitive points of the chest sent eruptions of sound out of Tintin’s throat, crawling sparks down his spine, a coil of electricity behind his navel.

Tintin wanted to do it to Haddock, just in case the captain didn’t know how very good it felt. He sat up, pressing the captain back on his haunches. With some help, he got Haddock’s coat out of the way, and dragged up the hem of the heavy blue sweater.

“You’re very good at this,” Tintin panted up at him, undressing Haddock with much less finesse than how he came to be half naked—he must learn the captain’s tricks, and how to do this without it slowing down the whole production.

With the sweater suddenly up around his ears, in danger of swallowing his hat, Haddock laughed and deposited the hat on Tintin’s head for safe keeping as they yanked the sweater off his bulky arms. The brim sank low around Tintin’s ears, tilted into his line of sight. The silky inside was hot with Haddock’s body heat, and smelled like his shampoo.

“You’re giggling, laddie,” Haddock said fondly, sinking onto the heels of his hands at either side of Tintin’s hips, where the young man sat in front of the sailor. Haddock was straddling his legs on all fours, resting on his haunches, dark locks askew, and eyes shining.

Tintin knocked the hat back with a knuckle and dropped backwards onto an elbow, his giggles doubling as Haddock crawled over him. It was the hat that made him giggle, but there was something right in front of him that he never considered as being part of an adventure like this and he reached out to rub the black fuzz, snickering, “You’re hairy.”

Haddock dropped his chin to look at the curls of dark hair on his strong chest and stomach. Then he turned his shining eyes back on Tintin, shaking his head, and running all five fingertips down his boney, freckled chest. “What, you reckoned I’d be baby soft like you?”

“Piss off,” Tintin said with only the barest connection to the usual angry-but-controlled firmness he used when teased about his thin blond body hair in school. The ache between his legs had returned, and wearing the captain’s hat had put an irrepressible smile on his face. “I’m not as soft as I look.”

“Oh, aye,” Haddock rumbled, running his palm back down Tintin’s body to feel the feathery texture of the sparse hair on him, thickest below the navel in a trail down beneath the waist line of his trousers. Tintin’s breath hitched as Haddock’s fingers undid the buckles to explore. His thick hand plunged in, and Tintin bucked up into the touch of that broad, rough hand. The captain’s voice grew hoarse and thin on his hot breath, and he moaned, panting, “Oh you are hard and wet...”

The front of his shorts were, indeed, damp with need, and Tintin had never considered that a good thing before now. His lips trembled and his fingers shook as he clawed open Haddock’s pants to mirror these wonderful caresses that made his body jerk and wriggle, trying to feel the exciting pleasures and find more at the same time.

Again with grace on Haddock’s part, and a brief pause on Tintin’s, their trousers were gone, and Haddock took them both in one scratchy, weathered palm. The underside of Tintin’s cock slid slippery against the underside of Haddock’s, both enclosed in a ring of fingers growing slippery with their combined pre-come. Tintin whimpered, and the sailor swore under his panting breath. After only a few strokes, Haddock paused and it struck Tintin again as a resurface for breath, as a moment to collect himself before a deeper plunge.

“What...what happens next, captain?” Tintin whispered. He was in the darkest part of his mind, a place he had never dared to go before now, even when administering to himself late at night. This secret place was where he locked away all the thoughts that would have driven him to have this adventure back in school, with one of the boys who offered, who showed him a picture... “Are you going to stick it in me?”

As if alarmed, Haddock lifted his chin fast to look into Tintin’s eye, study his whole face. Tintin saw a shift in expression but couldn’t read it before Haddock was shaking his rumpled head, smiling. “Not yet... First thing’s first.”

Tintin could only follow willingly as Haddock rearranged them completely. Now he was on his side, his back to Haddock’s front, trapped beneath one thick, tattooed arm.

The security of the embrace overpowered the displeasure of no longer being face to face. Tintin liked the feeling of so much body being close at his back, so much strength wrapping around him as if he belonged there.

Haddock’s lips trailed lightly over Tintin’s shoulder and neck as his fingers trailed rather lazily from knee to hip through the blond fuzz of leg hair, as if idly passing the time on a boring morning, as if Tintin’s body wasn’t weeping little damp spots into the sheet, red and aching.

Tintin took his swollen cock in hand blindly, happy to get himself off there in Haddock’s arms with Haddock’s lips all over him. His first two pulls were welcome enough to make him gasp but then Haddock knocked his hand aside and sat up against the head board.

He easily pulled Tintin over to sit up, leaned him back between his knees. Haddock’s hard, hot cock pressed into Tintin’s lower back but Haddock’s attention wasn’t there. With a head over Tintin’s shoulder and both arms circling around him, all ten of Haddock’s fingers teasingly traced the tender junctions where legs met groin. When the exploring digits prodded at Tintin’s balls, the young man couldn’t help the whimper. Haddock rumbled, “What do you think about when you make yourself come, Tintin?”

“You,” was Tintin’s easy, raw answer in a breathless gasp. It wasn’t a lie. Haddock and his bright blue eyes, Haddock and his musky briny smell, Haddock and his big hands, Haddock and his deep Scottish brogue. All of these things flickered through Tintin’s head of late when he curled in on himself and indulged in the naughty pleasures of the flesh.

“Me how?” Haddock asked.

“T-Touching me. Like this.”

Haddock hummed in rumbly pleasure and took Tintin’s aching length in hand, giving it a long, slow stroke. It pulled an equally long, high sound out of Tintin. With his other hand, Haddock rolled a firm little nipple between his fingers. How such pleasure could be found there was perhaps the biggest shock of the night thus far. Haddock gave him another stroke, faster, and another and another until Tintin’s whole body went tense and pliant in undecided turns.

The boy wanted more but didn’t know what to do to get it. If he was touching himself, he would speed up but that was not what Haddock did. Haddock kept a delicious pace and left Tintin room to explore the pleasure.

While it was essentially no different than anything Tintin could do to himself, it felt new in a million different ways. For starters, both his hands were free to grab hold of whatever they wanted to, Haddock’s arms, or Haddock’s legs on either side of him or the edges of the bed and the pleasure never stopped. Whenever he moved he moved against someone else, not just his pillows and blankets. He could feel another cock as hard and wanting as his own. He could hear breaths coming harshly, echoing his own. In essence, he wasn’t alone in this and that spurred him on further.

He found there was a certain thrill to tightening every muscle in his body and thrusting up into Haddock’s fist—taking action (using his strength) letting the intensity of the pleasure have a reaction through his entire being, spreading the pleasure out from head to toe--but there was also a most satisfying drop, a rush, when he simply let go, relaxed into Haddock’s arms and just let Haddock do the work, let the pleasure start to collect there at the base of his spine.

Wriggling and panting and making keening sounds he wasn’t even aware he was making, Tintin began to recognize that the end was near, began to know with pleasing certainty that bliss was in reach.

“Barnacles, say that again, laddie,” Haddock rumbled in his ear, a gasp as his hips bucked forward into Tintin’s back. Tintin hadn’t really been aware he was speaking but he repeated his thoughts, letting them be out loud,

“Yes, yes, I wanna… I wanna…,” Tintin panted mindlessly as his own hips jumped up to meet Haddock’s stokes. “Harder, captain! I wanna come, go harder, faster!”

Haddock obeyed and it was there, right there. Haddock’s hand wasn’t stopping and the slick, the heat, the pass of a thumb over the head, the squeeze at the base, all of it was bringing the boy millimeters closer, closer, closer.

Suddenly something thick and dark fell forward from Tintin’s head and blinded him--the captain’s hat. He still wore it and now it robbed him of his sense of sight so that the pleasure increased still further. Haddock’s finger left Tintin’s nipples to squeeze his balls which drew up very suddenly. With a shout, Tintin’s cock pulsed and heat landed in ropes and splatters on his stomach.

Tintin went rubbery from head to toe. Haddock’s huge hand gripped his jaw on one side to turn his head so that their mouths locked together in the most animal of kisses that Tintin had ever been a part of. It softened and then Haddock pulled away and rearranged them again until Tintin was on his back. His cock, lying in its thatch of strawberry blond curls, wasn’t softened yet.

The boy lifted his head, readjusting the cap so that he could see again, and looked down at the ejaculate on his abdomen with a moue of disgust. He had never made such a mess in his life, always spilling neatly into his hand or a cloth or the bathwater to be drained away. This was more of the shameful bodily fluid than he’d ever even considered being in one place before.

Haddock’s chuckles drew Tintin’s attention and before he knew it, Haddock bent and put his mouth to Tintin’s shallow bellybutton, and licked. He was licking up the come right from the pale, lightly freckled skin.

“Captain!” Tintin cried in shock and disgust, attempting to get away, but Haddock held him in place and finished his clean-up. Lifting his head, he grinned as he licked his lips, jumped his eyebrows.

“You just… That was my--is that sanitary?”

“No different than sucking off a cock or licking into a woman until she’s crying out in ecstasy.”

That left quite enough new ideas for Tintin to think about as he lay there catching his breath, back stroking idly over the deep dark pleasurable seas of before. Haddock stretched out on his side beside him, watching him. Tintin looked over, eyebrows together as he asked, tentatively, eyes locked on Haddock’s lips, “What’s it taste like?”

Without further ado, Haddock gripped Tintin by the back of the neck and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. His tongue swept into Tintin’s and the young man tasted musk and bitterness but also the familiar whiskey taste of Haddock’s mouth, and so Tintin slid over and pressed himself against the captain once more.

It was only then that he realized Haddock was still hard. He broke the kiss, “You didn’t finish.”

“No,” Haddock kissed him again, hardly pulling away enough to say, “I wanted to look after you first.”

“So it’s your turn now,” Tintin insisted happily. He lunged forward, pinned the older man and kissed him soundly. He trailed his hand down the doughy but muscular, tattooed chest and stomach to the waiting cock. Haddock made a surprised noise and broke the kiss, catching Tintin’s wrist.

“Not yet. I want more from you than a hand job, laddie.”

“Oh,” he said and the hat slipped forward again, obscuring his vision at the same time that the image of that picture he once saw filled his mind. And with it blood was collecting in his cock again.

It had happened on a few occasions; when, after finishing, Tintin still couldn’t sleep but had to go again. But this time it happened rather sooner than he thought possible because he didn’t even have time to soften. Suddenly, just like that, with no time to rest, absolutely no time to catch his breath, it was starting all over again. The depths of the sea were dragging him back down.

Haddock righted the hat on Tintin’s head, surged up to kiss him again, and reversed their positions. Tintin was again pinned with his mouth consumed. He understood now that the urge he’d known in private all his adult life was nothing but a faint hint, a mild foreshadowing of what was possible to feel. The ache was the pleasure.

Breaking their lips apart, Tintin said as maturely as he could possibly manage, “Well, you can fuck me now if that’s what you want.”

Laughing breathlessly, Haddock gripped Tintin’s hips and said sternly, “You ginger devil, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“Then explain it to me, Captain, what am I missing?”

“Well...we shouldn’t just dive right into it, laddie,” Haddock said with a merry lilt in his voice. His fingers went back to teasing. “We should work you up to it…. First, I’ll  
make you beg for it.”

“Beg?” Tintin felt his chin go up in defiance, even as his hips snapped forward, pushing his cock up against Haddock’s thigh.

“Aye,” Haddock’s eyes were dark with desire, and crinkled in the corners with happiness as he squeezed the flesh of Tintin’s ass. “That’s what I said, Tintin, beg. I’ll make you wait for it. When you’re coming undone by the thought alone, that’s when I...I’ll take you.”

Almost undone by his own words, Haddock ravaged Tintin’s mouth, tongue delving deeper, both hands sweeping up Tintin’s whole body, from hips to nipples. He groaned into the kiss, filling the young man with an older man’s low voice.

Shuddering, Tintin clutched awkwardly in desperation at his first lover, arching his back, pushing himself harder against Haddock, trying to find friction so that he could feel as he had only moments ago, so free and ecstatic in Haddock’s arms.

“Oh, captain, yes,” Tintin panted, throwing his head back into the pillows, barring his throat and sighing when Haddock’s teeth found the offering. He pushed up into him once more. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Haddock chuckled, murmured against his throat. “God, yes, you beautiful boy, god yes… but not until you’re ready for it.”

“Yes,” he answered breathily, shaking his head, dazed, as Haddock returned to sucking new marks into his skin. He didn’t know what he was saying; insisting for the sake  
of insisting. “I am. I am ready.”

Lifting up to look him in the eye, Haddock laughed again, high in the back of his throat, “You will be soon enough. I’ll get you there.”

“Promise it’ll be soon?” Tintin asked.

“Blistering Blue Barnacles, Tintin,” Haddock rumbled, “you’re more than I bargained for.”

And suddenly, Haddock changed their positions again. Tintin found himself astride the prone and gasping sea captain.

“Great snakes,” Tintin panted both from the swift position change which had left his breath on the sheets and from the sudden change in view. He knocked the hat back with a knuckle to keep it out of his eyes. Haddock was on his back, holding Tintin’s hips over his own. There was so much more space to move up here. Haddock continued to do some shifting until his legs were out from under the boy, until Tintin found himself between the captain’s thighs. Unaware that he just said it because absolutely everything else was forgotten, Tintin murmured, breathlessly, “Great snakes…”

Haddock’s cock was leaking, hard, red, almost upright in a thatch of black curls, bowing down to kiss little dew spots into Haddock’s lower abdomen. Haddock was smiling up at him, completely at ease in this rather vulnerable looking position.

Tintin’s heart rate tripled and he indulged himself by rocking erratically against Haddock. His length slid between the captain’s thigh and his balls and in the hot crease there Tintin found the next best thing to a slippery palm. He looked into the sailor’s eyes. “Is this...?”

“Yes,” Haddock assured, gently linking their fingers and thus denying Tintin any access to the straining erection in front of him. He flexed his strong thighs around Tintin, prompting him to move, which he did. “That’s it, Tintin. Don’t worry about me. Go.”

Everything was so new, the view, the angle, the movement of his hips, the strain in his muscles. Tintin quickly lost himself in the drive for release, and the coil was starting in his groin so the end was there, right there… But it wasn’t the same as before. It was good but not as intense. It was right, but… not the same.

Suddenly Haddock pulled him down for a hard kiss. The angle disrupted Tintin’s thrusting so he stopped, he just stopped right there on the edge, and the release which had been so close slipped away. Haddock broke the kiss, smiling up at him, “You’ll blow before you’ve even gotten started if you keep that pace, lad. What’s your rush?”

Horrified—for Tintin suddenly understood it was only okay for it to happen quickly when he was doing it alone—his body went tense, and he found other things to look at. “Oh,” he squeaked, sitting up and even trying to hide his face in humiliation.

Haddock held him, thumbs stroking over the crests of hip bones reassuringly, “Go slower, try to last longer. You’ll like it--and you need to be used to taking your time about it, if you want me to fuck you.”

So this was to be an endurance thing; right, then. Tintin set his jaw with determination and began thrusting against Haddock once more. He found a pace that wasn’t too slow but wasn’t too fast and concentrated on keeping it. And therein lay the magic. Slowly, it built up at the base of his spine again. Being in constant motion as he was, the pleasure stayed spread through him, never pooling as it had when he’d been in Haddock’s arms. But that was okay because he was finding another pleasure now. A new ache now in his muscles which were untrained in this particular motion for this length of time and it only spiced the pleasure. Enriched it, made it fiery hot and perfect. Haddock’s hands roved approvingly over him, thick fingers kneaded his ass, slipped into the crevice and--

“Oh, captain, yes!” Tintin choked when fingers slid over the sensitive pucker of skin never before touched, then passed the entrance to press in a certain spot just behind his balls. The sensation it caused inside was enough to make Tintin break his pace and soon after, he spilled a second time in a thundering shudder of ecstasy, hips snapping as he pulsed. His whole body singing with bliss.

It was by far the best he had ever had.

It lasted but a moment, and then the world fell back into place and he saw how painfully hard his lover was. He fell to the bed beside Haddock, holding the hat in place as he did so, and went to an elbow.

“Let me,” he panted, reaching blindly for Haddock to return the favors, aware on the far shores of his mind that the man had yet to finish once and was now two full times behind. “Here, let me.”

“No,” Haddock growled catching the boy’s hand once again. “Give yourself a minute.”

“Why?” Tintin panted. He hadn’t caught his breath from the exertion of his second ejaculation in under an hour and he was softening now into overused, very sensitive flesh, but he thought he would be perfectly able to give a hand job in this state.

In fact, he was eager to see to the captain as he’d now already been twice, falling apart into many different pleasures. He kissed his lover sweetly, “Why shouldn’t I get to see you come?”

Haddock growled, eyes closed, and answered, “Because I don’t want you to see me come, Tintin. I want to be inside you so that you feel it.”

“Oh?” he asked weakly. The idea of the captain coming suddenly became more appealing than the idea of his own release. Tintin had gone two times already, after all, and he was beginning to think it was time to explore the sensations of making someone else lose themselves to the white hot pleasure.

He rolled over onto his stomach and lifted his rear to mimic the position of one of the men he’d seen in the picture, knocking the too-big hat back out of his eyes as he looked over his shoulder, and said with as much cheek as he could muster, “Well, I’m right here, Haddock, what are you waiting on? Make me feel you come.” He wriggled his ass in the air just in case Haddock hadn’t already seen it the moment he’d opened his eyes.

“So help me, laddie, you’re in dangerous waters. Just…” Haddock covered his eyes with his hands, “I’m drunk and more than ready to take you so just don’t tempt me until you’re ready again.”

“Ready again?” Tintin echoed blinking as things fell into place in his mind. “So does that mean…” his voice trailed off, processing this new idea that being fucked would result in not only Haddock’s release but his own. He recalled what had pushed him over the edge as he rubbed himself against Haddock, and he met Haddock’s dark blue eyes. “Will it--will it feel like when you touched me, made me come by pressing in that spot?”

The corner of Haddock’s mouth twitched up and his voice was soft and raspy, “Yes, that and more, Tintin. That and more. So just wait. I’ll have you feeling so good you’ll think you’ve died. You’ll be spread out beneath me, open and wet and filled up with my cock, crying for it to last forever and end all at the same time.”

Blood spiking, insides swooping low and hot at the thought, Tintin knew he would come again before the night was over. Having now gone soft and sensitive, he wasn’t bouncing back as quickly as before, but he knew it was only a matter of time. And they had the whole rest of the night. Great Snakes, who would have thought… three times!

Haddock lifted his head and looked down his body at his dark, upright cock and the second mess Tintin had made tonight, this time pooling in the junction of Haddock’s thigh and groin. The sea captain grinned absently to himself, thumping his big head back to the bed as if satisfied with leaving it there for now.

Getting an idea, Tintin sat up and crawled over his lover once again. Before Haddock could even ask and certainly before Tintin could think about it too much and chicken out, he stooped and licked up his own come right from between Haddock’s thigh and balls.

“Fuck!” the experience sailor cried in shock, head snapping up, hands going to grip Tintin by the ears, knocking the hat askew.

Tintin was momentarily surprised by the sheer potency of a taste which he had apparently only gotten a hint off from the captain’s mouth. Without mingling with the taste of whiskey and Haddock, it didn’t taste half as good as he thought it would. But it was bearable and there was something to be said about the erotic feeling he got when he put his mouth on Haddock there to do something so… wicked.

“You are a devil,” Haddock panted, looking slightly alarmed but also amused, “Oh, Poseidon help me!” he cried dramatically to the ceiling, “this beautiful boy is going to be the end of me! No way can I keep up with him on his adventures and in bed! You’ve got to save me from him!”

“You’ve been doing a superb job with keeping up so far, Captain,” Tintin said cheekily, “No use in turning coward and going back now.”

The taunt narrowed those blue lanterns into slits even as Haddock smiled with amusement and threatened playfully, “That’s no way to talk to your captain when you’re at sea in uncharted waters, lad. No telling what he might do to you.”

Tintin raised a red eyebrow, “Give us an example.”

He once again straddled Haddock’s meaty legs and the drunken man idly ran his big palms up and down the light fur of Tintin’s thighs, then pushed himself upright, looped an arm around Tintin’s lower back to hold him in place as their faces came together. Haddock’s voice was little more than a croak, “He could wreck you, Tintin. Fuck you so hard and so long that you’re all used up.”

A shiver went through him--maybe pleasure, maybe the fear of uncertainty--and he was sure Haddock felt the shake. He realized he was starting to get hard again so maybe it was pleasure. “Oh,” he puffed and kissed the man soundly.

Haddock squeezed him, kissed him hard in reply and little movements put friction on Tintin’s hardening flesh where it was trapped against Haddock’s torso. He broke the kiss, taking Haddock’s hand and putting it where he needed it, panting, “Captain, captain, feel. I’m ready. I’m ready again. You can fuck me now.”

He was surprised by the tremor he felt go through the experienced man’s arms. Before he knew it, the world whipped around and he was on his back on the bed. Haddock kissed him and bit a line down his throat, his chest, his stomach.

“Haddock,” Tintin puffed, spreading out his legs as Haddock had for him earlier, “you must be hurting to come by now. Either let me touch you or start fucking me.”

Haddock’s lips parted from his skin and he shook his head, “Not yet.”

“Why ever not?” Tintin snapped, going up onto his elbows and having to knock the blasted hat back yet again so that he could see. Another picture sprang to mind and he said, “I could suck you! I’d feel you come if I sucked you off.”

Haddock’s jaw was set with determination, if not a little anger, as he straightened up from where he lapped at Tintin’s bellybutton. He took the boy by the shoulders and pushed him, hard, back down onto the pillows. He growled as he moved in as if for a kiss but stopped when he was almost there, “Not yet. I’ve gone longer than this with a stiff one and it never killed me. Just have some patience.”

“I’m not entirely sure you are drunk.” Tintin crossed his arms, only slightly pretending to be put out. He rather liked it when Haddock growled like that.

“I am drunk,” Haddock snorted, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Tintin asked.

“To make you beg,” the man laughed, “I’ve already told you; I know you’re a better listener than that. Must be something to do with your blood being nowhere near your head.”

With an exasperated but overall playful sigh, Tintin threw his arms in the air, “Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease fuck me, Captain! Please fuck me!” He giggled, suddenly feeling breathless again as if the pleading exclamations were stairs he took two at a time, “There. I’m begging.”

Haddock’s eyes were slits again, his grin breaking through his beard and he clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “Oho, you aren’t there yet if you still have enough wits about you to keep spewing full sentences.”

Tintin was pressed further into the pillows and Haddock’s knowing tongue swept into his mouth wholly. Taking Tintin’s breath, he moved suddenly away to retrieve something from under the bed. When he unscrewed the lid, the smell of petroleum jelly permeated the cloud of musk and whiskey. Haddock generously coated his fingers and spread Tintin’s cheeks open, smearing the cold gel over his puckered entrance.

“Relax, lad. Your bottom,” he gave a light smack to Tintin’s ass. “Relax it as much as you can for me. There you go,” the captain breathed happily, and before Tintin knew it, the finger was in and sinking. It didn’t really feel like anything until the man twisted his hand, crooked the finger. On the outside, there was a burning stretch at the ring of muscles—but on the inside.

“Oh—ca—captain!” he gargled. Haddock’s calloused, glossed finger brushed the spot again. Tintin gasped and shuddered, bit his lip. This was very different than the external nudge he had received earlier. This felt so raw, hypersensitive, secret, almost embarrassing, except Tintin never got embarrassed, not when he was after answers.

He clutched Haddock, panting and whimpering as the captain massaged the stubborn ring of muscles expertly, repeatedly giving Tintin a nudge in that dangerous spot to make him convulse with sharp flings of pleasure.

Another finger brought the searing stretch again, opening Tintin further, and even this feeling Tintin was learning to love because it always meant the sweetness was coming; Haddock was generous and made sure to massage the sexy, tender spot thoroughly for every new finger he added.

Sweat glistening on his freckles, breaths shallow, muscles shaking, voice mewling, Tintin bucked against the three fingers buried inside of him. Upon learning that pleasure for himself could come of it, he had suspected that being fucked would feel magnificent, but he couldn’t have known the delicate line between the pleasure and the pain, how maddening the urge was to outweigh the necessary pain with more of that raw stimulation to the hidden nerves.

And Haddock wasn’t even fucking him yet. That stiff cock would give such pleasure the pain would be forgotten easily or mistaken as more pleasure.

“Please,” Tintin whimpered, going to an elbow, back arching as the fingers tantalized him. He pressed his mouth to Haddock’s, clung to his neck, gasped into his ear, “ah—more? Please, I need—I need you to—um, ah,” he bit his lip against the hard press of Haddock’s skilled fingers, sending such pleasure through him that it stopped his voice and made three fat pearls of fluid blossom from the red throbbing head of Tintin’s cock. “Um,” he couldn’t remember what he had been saying, only that his point had been, “please.”

When this didn’t work (except to make Haddock chuckle lowly and scissor his fingers again, tightening Tintin like a fishing line) the young man began to panic in a most unusual way. It was panic without fear, panic made entirely out of anticipation, desire, and the new idea that Haddock was never going to stop teasing him.  
What if he carried on with this the whole night? How long would it take? There was no doubt in the ginger’s mind that he could come from Haddock’s fingers alone. But he didn’t want to.

“Don’t,” he gasped frantically. Haddock paused in some concern, allowing Tintin to rasp quickly, “Don’t—Captain, I want—ah, I want!”  
“What do you want, Tintin?”

“You! You! Inside—Inside—” It was the only word he knew anymore, and it felt intelligent, two whole syllables. He gripped Haddock’s cock for the first time. It was heavy, hot, and surprisingly thick, pulsing just like Tintin’s own. Haddock moaned and tensed, but didn’t remove Tintin’s hand, let him guide the straining cock to the place Haddock’s fingers were.

“You want me inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tintin shot kisses all over him, tokens for the right idea, encouragement. “Oh, Please, Capt’n, please.”

“Aye-aye, then,” he rumbled, pleased.

Tintin writhed beneath him, trying to push Haddock’s cock in between all the fingers. The clumsy attempt stretched him further, a stab of pain that must be soothed.  
Tintin whimpered with anticipation when all three fingers left him swiftly, and the hot head of his dripping cock pressed to the burning spot.

Haddock breeched him in one long push, filling him absolutely up—the stretch was more than expected, deeper and more solid, and the sharp sensation locked Tintin in a rigid form. His eyes screwed shut. He gurgled and choked at the hot stroke against the good spot, but it was hardly anything against the burning stretch.

“You’re big,” he gasped. He had to remind himself he wanted this, he’d asked for it—begged for it. But how could he have known it would feel like this? A tear squeezed out of Tintin’s eye and rolled into Haddock’s hand where it caressed his ear. It wasn’t the pain, not entirely. It was something else; Haddock, everywhere, in his skin. Too much, it was just too much, he wasn’t ready to feel like this.

Suddenly, the captain had his forehead against Tintin’s, his lips on his. “You’re so tight, Tintin. So...good, oh I knew you would be.” he moaned and kissed him again. Tintin trembled and another tear ran after the first. He might not have been ready but he wanted it, had been dreaming about it—him and Haddock so entwined time couldn’t even divide them.

Lost in the kisses, Tintin barely noticed as his tensed body faded but when Haddock began to move inside of him, he dropped fast and hard back down into his body, expecting pain but finding none. There was just Haddock moving against the most secret, sensitive part of Tintin.

Haddock’s hot and delicious slide against the special spot made Tintin moan, shake. The fullness still held an intensity that closed his throat and made more water in his eyes. But then Haddock’s beefy, weathered hand closed around Tintin’s flushed cock, and began to work that knot of pleasure out into a smooth sail with every perfect tug.

Gasping, Tintin fisted the sheets at his ears. Thick pleasure pooled in his belly, but seeped out to the edges of his body. Tintin writhed and moaned, searching, seeking a place inside himself where this feeling wasn’t drowning him in hot waves. He found no place even in his mind, and his body—where did he end, where did Haddock begin?  
Everything was so hot and slippery and throbbing and the same. They were one and the same.

This uplifting thought sent Tintin into raptures; lifted his whole body into an arch, his balls tightened. He didn’t hear the things Haddock gasped roughly when he tightened on the sailor so suddenly, for he was gone, surfing the hot wave as it crashed through his belly. Tintin cried out as it erupted from his cock, taking with it all coherent thought from the ginger, leaving nothing but a strung out ecstasy that made him dizzy.

Tintin opened his eyes and saw the inside of the hat again. Shoving it back, he looked up into the captain’s face, and Haddock looked down at him, brow set, eyes dark with desire as he began to thrust erratically. With trembling hands, he caressed Tintin’s face, a calloused thumb wiped away the tear tracks. Tintin held onto him and grit his teeth as the pleasurable spot began to feel a little too tender.

Haddock was still hard, and still driving into him, now with abandon so close he was shaking. Their noses brushed, their lips met. At last, Haddock tensed, hips snapping, and Tintin felt him come intimately, saw his blissed-out face as it happened—drunk, but not his usual drunk scowl. This was a happy drunk. Drunk and breathless, like Tintin felt; oh this was definitely something they must do again. As often as possible, especially since it was a drunk the journalist could approve of.

With a groan like an old sinking ship, Haddock pulled out of Tintin’s overused bottom and crashed to the bed beside him. The jolting springs bounced Tintin off the mattress and the rush of cool air on his heated skin made him sigh in comfort as he bounced into his lover. Haddock happily caught him and wrapped him up before he could get too cold.

“Great snakes,” he gulped.

Haddock chuckled, breathing heavily. “How did you like that?”

Tintin hummed his approval, but said nothing on the troubling thoughts occurring to him. Indeed, now that he had had a minute to adjust and recollect his scattered wits,  
Tintin wasn’t sure about being wrecked, as Haddock had put it. He felt so thoroughly worked-over… so empty compared to how over-stuffed he had been through the whole ordeal, and so helplessly exhausted.

He could barely lift his head. All he could do, and all he wanted to do, was stick as close to the captain as he could. He held on as if lost at sea with nothing but a life saver hooked on his shoulder…Perhaps he needed to just get used to it; an easy feat if Haddock held him afterward like this every time…

“Tintin?” the whisper came from far away. Dark curtains had closed on everything—Tintin found that he could not lift his eye lids for the life of him. Haddock had wrecked his strength; he would have to pay for that later. With great effort, the journalist managed a few words of vital importance.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Tintin mumbled through the dense fatigue. His freckled arms tightened slightly around Haddock’s hairy torso, all the strength left to him. Chuckling happily, the captain took back his hat and settled in to pet Tintin’s spine while sleep swept him off in a fast, deep current.

…

Fin.


End file.
